I was wishing the Russians would hurry up and get it over with. I was sick of everyone acting like it was the end of the world, which maybe it was, but so what, you know? So what?
Ralph
The vacant lot is all just tall weeds and rocks and little ditches, with a big For Sale sign in the middle. I got at one corner of the field and Lou at the other and we started walking in a straight line, head down, kicking at stuff, all the way across, then turning around and walking back the other way a couple feet over. This is looking for bottles, how it’s done. It’s very boring.
But it’s one of Lou’s favorite things to do. I know how she feels. I used to be her age. I used to think there was a good chance of finding a dinosaur tooth or a bag of pirate coins.
Or even a trap door.
I used to think maybe there’d be like a trap door just under the dirt, a cellar door, with a rope handle, and I’d open it and go down these dark stairs and come out in a story. I’d be The Boy Who Went Down to the Land Below. And what did he find there? I had no idea. Could be very beautiful, with flowers and fountains. Could be very scary, with dungeons and dogheaded men. Probably very beautiful and very scary. But anyway I’d be in a story, you know? I’d be a boy in a story. I wouldn’t even have to make anything up.
Today so far I kicked up a Dixie cup, a small blue mitten, and an empty box of Luden’s Wild Cherry Cough Drops.
Toby
I sat in the wagon and opened the waxy paper, that fresh bubble gum aroma jumping out at me, a pretty pink square of it sitting on top of the cards. Then into the mouth it goes.
Delicious.
All right, let’s see who we got here.
Dick Tracewski, shortstop, Dodgers. So now I’ve got three of him. Says on the back he’s “dependable.” That’s for sure.
Next up, Bubba Phillips, third base, White Sox, already got him. On the back a little drawing of a guy in a ball cap doing the sidestroke. Says, Bubba is also an excellent swimmer. Talk about desperate.
Next: Bengal Belters, one of those two-player cards, the Tigers’ Norm Cash and Al Kaline. I hate these. I’ve got a bunch of them: Tribe Thumpers, Cardinal Clubbers, and so on. Nobody wants them. You either have a Norm Cash card or an Al Kaline, not these freaks of nature.
Next, hey look at this, Sandy Koufax. Now I got the whole Dodger pitching staff, starters and relievers. Welcome aboard, Sandy. Handsome devil.
Last but not least—no, I take that back, last and least: Aaron, outfield, Braves, not Hank, his brother Tommie. Says on the back, Unlike his brother Hank, Tommie stinks, look at his numbers.
I put them all back in the wrapper and into my pocket, feeling like I’m worth a little more than when I got up this morning. Thanks to Mr. Sandy Koufax, just a little bit more.
And now it was time to start heading back.
“Let’s go, people.”
Lou
I stubbed my foot. Fatso hollered and I looked up and stubbed my foot on something and almost fell.
It was a rock. I was going to kick it for tripping me. I was mad. We had to wagon him all the way back now and I was going to kick the rock—but it was looking at me. It had like an eye and it was looking at me out of it. Plus I think it told me, “Don’t, Lou.” Or maybe not, maybe it didn’t speak, but it was looking at me, I know that.
So I picked it up.
Now it was looking at me out of two eyes.
And that wasn’t all...that wasn’t all...
“Ralph!”
Ralph
I took it before she almost dropped it, she was so shaky, and looked it over. Then I almost dropped it. “Where did...”
“Right here, on the ground, looking up at me,” she said.
“Let’s go, let’s get rolling,” Fatso hollered.
We let him.
“It’s Him, right?” Lou said, meaning Jesus.
I nodded.
She started doing the Twist. She always does that when she gets excited about something, she starts dancing.
I told her to stop. We had to think. This was serious. This could be a Holy Object. Just holding it in my hands I could feel it, you know? Feel the power. Whatever it was, this was no ordinary rock.
“I’m waiting!” Fatso yelled.
“What should we do with it, Ralph?”
“I don’t know. I’m thinking we should probably show it to Father Clay.” Father Clay’s the pastor of our church, Our Lady of Sorrows. He looks like a bulldog. Some of the kids call him that, not to his face.
“What’ll he do with it?”
“That’s up to him. But you know what I’m thinking we should do? Right now? You and me?”
“Bring it over, let’s have a look!”
Toby
I don’t like being ignored, especially by my own staff.
But then, get this. Whatever Ralph was holding, whatever it was they found, he set it on the ground like it was made of gold, then the two of them got down on their knees in front of it and folded their hands.
I’m serious.
I decided I’d better go have a look. I got out of the wagon and walked on over, all the way across the entire stinking lot, thinking this better be good.
When I came up they were in the middle of an Our Father: “‘Give us this day our daily bread...’”
I looked at what they were praying to. It was a rock.
“‘...and forgive us our trespasses...’”
“What’re you people doing?”
“‘...as we forgive those who trespass against us...’”
I bent all the way over and picked the thing up.
“Leave it,” Ralph said, getting to his feet.
I told him, “Take it easy, I’m just looking, all right? Is that all right?”
He let me look.
That’s all it was, a rock, with some dried-up, caked-on dirt all over it. I didn’t understand why they were praying to it. “What’re you, some kind of gypsy rock-worshippers?”
“It’s Jesus,” Lou said, still down on her knees.
I looked at it. “Jesus Christ?”
“You’re holding it wrong,” Ralph said.
I turned it.
“There,” he said.
I looked at it some more. “There what?”
He stepped up and pointed out some bumpy dried-up dirt along both sides, which you could kind of see as being long wavy hair, plus a couple of gouges in the right places for eyes, a crooked little ridge in the middle you could call a broken nose, a thin little slit for a mouth, turned down like a frown, and some dry clumpy mud that could pass for a messy beard. Put it all together and you could definitely see a long sad face. But a lot of people have long sad faces.
“And,” Ralph said, pointing along the forehead over some tiny twigs and blades of grass sticking this way and that.
“Crown of thorns?” I said.
He nodded, slow.
It didn’t go all the way around but from the front it was pretty close to looking a little bit like a crown of thorns.
“And tear drops,” Lou added, on her feet now, pointing out some little bumps running down from the eyes.
So: hair, eyes, nose, mouth, beard, crown of thorns, tear drops. “I think we’ve got something here,” I told them. “I think we’ve definitely got something.” The wheels were turning very fast now. “Listen, you people own a tent?”
Lou
The rock was looking at me so sad—I never saw Jesus look so sad, even up on the cross—like He was begging me in tears, Lou, please? Get me away from this fat thing? I didn’t come to see him, I came to see you and Ralph. He’s holding me all wrong, he’s got his finger in my nose. He doesn’t care, Lou. Please? Get me back?
I promised.
Toby
I told them, “Here’s what I’m thinking. We get ourselves a tent, set it up in my yard, put this on a little table in there, with some special lighting. Get some fliers out: Is it Jesus? Or just a roc
k? You decide. Charge by the minute, say a dime, which sounds like a lot, but hey, we’re talking about a minute with the Son of God, right?” I looked at them. “How ‘bout it, people, what do you say? You with me or not?”
“Give it here,” Ralph said.
“You got a better idea, let’s hear it.”
“Hand it over.”
I turned away, cradling it. “First tell me what you’re gonna do with it.”
“Give it to Father Clay,” he said.
I said, “Excuse me?”
He repeated it.
“What’s Father Clay got to do with it? We’re the ones who found it.”
“You didn’t find it,” from the little one.
“The point is, why give it to him?”
“We have to,” Ralph said. “It’s a holy object.”
I laughed in their faces. “It’s a rock, people.”
“It’s Jesus,” from the little one again.
I looked at her, looked at him.
My mother would love these two. She doesn’t like kids, especially dirty little smelly ones, but she would think these two were like the children of Fatima. You’ve heard of them, right? Those little shepherd kids Mary appeared to? Fatima, Portugal, 1917. We had a quiz on it after watching this movie about them Thursday in the gym—I’d give it one and a half stars, maybe not even that. Anyway, that’s how my mom would see these two, like they were the poor little shepherds of Fatima. She knows all that stuff, the miracles and appearances and feast days, and all the different names for Mary:
Our Lady of Fatima
Our Lady of Sorrows
Our Lady of the Rosary
Our Lady of the Weeping Jesus Rock
Anyway, here’s the thing. To get this ten-cents-for-a-minute-with-Jesus idea of mine off the ground I would need some serious money, and having these two along would help loosen her up.
The Children of the Vacant Lot.
They’d give the whole thing a certain glow, you know? Put a nice warm glow around it.
First though, I had to loosen them up.
Ralph
He started going on about how much we reminded him of the brother and sister in that movie we all saw at school Thursday about the children of Fatima. He said it was downright scary how much we reminded him.
I told him, “Yeah, right...”
“No, I’m serious. I’m not just saying that. Why would I?”
I didn’t know.
He said Mary chose those kids, picked them out to be the ones, the only ones. “She didn’t appear to anyone else in the village, did she? Or am I wrong? Did she?”
“No...” I said.
“Same with you two kids.” He said Jesus chose me and Lou to be the ones who found the Sacred Rock—that’s what he called it, the Sacred Rock. He said the reason the Fatima kids got chose was because of how special they were, how religious. Same with me and Lou, he said. “Look what you two were doing just a minute ago—praying, down on your knees, in the dirt, in broad daylight.”
Which was true.
“That’s the kind of thing Jesus likes to see,” he said. “That’s the kind of brother and sister He chooses out of all the others. See what I’m saying?” He tilted his big head at me. “Do you see? What I’m trying to say?”
I kind of did see. I mean, let’s face it, we were kind of special, me and Lou, you know? When you think about it? Going down on our knees like that? In the dirt? In broad daylight? How many other kids would do that? I couldn’t think of any.
Except maybe the children of Fatima.
But we still had to bring the Sacred Rock to Father Clay. That’s something the children of Fatima would know they had to do. So I told him he still had to hand it over.
“Right now,” Lou said.
We stepped closer, both of us.
Toby
They were being difficult. “Will you let me finish please?”
They let me.
“Now listen,” I told them. “We all agree, this is some kind of a miracle. God put this here for you two Fatima-types to find, isn’t that right?”
Ralph nodded.
The little one just kept staring at the rock.
I focused on Ralph. “All right,” I said, “now, the question is: Why? Why would God set this whole thing up—having you look for bottles today, putting the rock just where you’ll find it, making sure I’m here to explain it all—why would He go to all that trouble?”
Ralph shrugged.
“Well, first of all, because, like I said, you kids are special and He loves you very much. Or am I wrong? Help me out. Does God love us all very much or not?”
Ralph nodded, yes, God loves us.
“All right,” I said, “and when you love someone, what do you want to do? You want to make them happy, right? Isn’t that right?”
He nodded, yes, that was right.
“Well, let me tell you something. This thing right here?” I held it away from me and looked at it. “This could make us all very happy. This could be the break we’ve been waiting for.” I didn’t know if they’d been waiting for one but I had. “Now listen up,” I told them. “Never mind Father Clay, we’re gonna do something a lot better than Father Clay, believe me. Better for everyone. But it’s gonna take a little money to get started. Takes money to make money, ever hear that? So. Very first thing we gotta do—”
Lou grabbed the rock and took off running.
She would have got away—I can’t run more than ten yards at a stretch—but she tripped and fell and dropped the rock. I was bending over for it but Ralph scooped it up, so I put out my foot and he went down hard. He held on to the rock though, so I quick sat down on his back, straddling him, most of my weight on my knees. But that could change.
I explained the choice he had to make. Hand over the rock or be slowly crushed to death. “It’s up to you,” I said. “Your fate is in your own—”
Lou grabbed my right tit from behind and twisted it like you wouldn’t believe. I screamed but she kept twisting it until I rolled off of him.
I laid there in pain, watching them run back to the wagon, Ralph holding the rock under his arm like a football, Lou spinning around, laughing and dancing.
Lou
We had Jesus back and I felt like twisting the night away.
Twistin, twistin, everybody’s feeling great...
Ralph set it down in the wagon, careful, and we got out of there, him pulling, me trotting alongside.
I looked back.
No Fatso.
Twistin, twistin...
Ralph told me to quit dancing but I couldn’t help it.
Twistin the night away...
Toby
After they were gone I laid there for a while crying into my arms. Which I’m old for, I know, but I felt so sorry for myself, this big sweaty thing laying there in the weeds like that. I raised my head and looked up at the sky: “Why me, Lord? Why me?” Then I dumped my face in my arms again and cried some more for the lonely fatboy.
But after a while I stopped.
I got up and brushed myself off.
I started walking after them.
I wanted that head.
President Kennedy
A strict quarantine on all offensive military equipment under shipment to Cuba is being initiated. All ships of any kind bound for Cuba from whatever nation or port found to contain cargo of offensive weapons will be returned.
Ralph
Lou waited on the sidewalk with the wagon and the Jesus rock and I went up and rang the bell. After I rang it again the door opened and there was this little miniature grayhaired lady with shaggy eyebrows and her glasses on a string. “Yes?” she said. “May I help you?”
I told her I wanted to see Father Clay please.
She said Father wasn’t here right now. “Is it something very important?”
“Well...when will he be back, do you know?”
“Not for
quite a while, I’m sure. He’s at the church hearing confessions. Have you seen the lines, how long?”
“Ralph,” Lou said.
I looked back at her.
“Rowley,” she said.
I asked the woman what about Father Rowley.
“He’s there as well. Ordinarily one is enough, but not today,” she said, and moved her shaggy eyebrows up and down like Groucho.
I said, “You mean, because of...”
“Have you been?” she asked.
“To confession?”
“Either one of you? Have you gone? Are you prepared?”
“To die, you mean?”
“Children’s confessions are this afternoon from one until four. I advise you to go, both of you.” She started closing the door.
“Wait,” I said.
She waited.
“We have something.”
“Oh?”
“For Father Clay.”
“Well? What is it?”
“It’s a...well, it’s...actually...”
“It’s Jesus,” Lou said, bringing the wagon up. She took out the rock and handed it to me and I held it up towards the woman, face out.
“We found this,” I told her.
She put her glasses on and looked it over, nodding her head. “Interesting. I see what you mean,” she said, not very excited, and took off her glasses. “Why don’t you leave it here on the stoop? That way, when Father returns this evening he’ll find it waiting for him. I’ll have the porch light on, to make sure he sees.”
I looked at Lou.
She shook her head, no.
“We’ll come back later on,” I told the woman, and put the head back in the wagon.
“Why don’t you do as I tell you?”
“We’ll bring it back later,” I said.
“You don’t understand. Father is very busy. He doesn’t have time for this sort of thing, not today. Don’t you read the newspaper? Don’t you watch television?”
The H-Bomb and the Jesus Rock Page 5